


His smile

by Lord_Risley



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Feels, Johns smile, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Risley/pseuds/Lord_Risley





	His smile

He looks at me and I know him so well. I can see the thoughts as they leave trails of emotion and decision across his face. There's a slight crinkling of the brow, lines around the eyes in familiar and well worn tracks. A smile starts, tugging at the corners of his lips and then his whole face seems to light up, radiating with sheer joy. This is John at his most relaxed, most Normal, ordinary, wonderful self and how I like him best.   
His smile is infectious to those around him, myself included. It's not usually long before I'm grinning like a fool with him. Love does some very strange things to a person, especially this person. I had never thought myself capable of caring so much for the well being of another person, let alone find myself admitting to genuine affection and possibly......possibly love?   
This is one of my favourite times of our day. I used to fear that routine would destroy whatever it was that we have but I tolerate this part, I enjoy this part. His eyes flicker open, blinking slowly as he becomes orientated and adjusts to the light in the room. Once he focuses on my face the smile starts. That wonderfully natural and heart warming response to waking up next to me.

We lay on opposite sides of the bed, a pillow each, all we share is space and an overly large duvet. This is how it is, how it's been for 167 glorious days now. 167 times I had the sole privilege of waking up to that smile, being the recipient of that smile.

"Morning" He mumbles, fidgeting in the bed, yawning, stretching out like a old, slightly stumpy cat, fingers and toes wiggling. His feet pop out the end of the duvet and then shoot back in as the cold, crisp air of the morning makes contact with his skin. His face moves against the pillow, a days stubble showing, grating over the fine cotton of the pillowcase. I feel the urge to reach out, run a finger over the prickly hair, caress it until my fingertip feels rough and calloused. I don't of course. I rarely touch John and certainly not in the bed we now share. Its not fair to him and never will be and its why I'm dangerously close to declaring ridiculous notions of affection to him. Here's a man with a romantic history, one I've often had to witness in close proximity. There have been girlfriends only as far as I've ever known. He says no other man and I'm inclined to believe him. The torturous months and years of listening to him attempting to romance a variety of women were behind me, as thankfully, were the evenings of having to listen to the bed springs from upstairs, a sign of his success with whomever it was that week.   
To discover that he could be happy, content to be with me and nobody else was more than a shock. I had built a defensive wall of denial, a fortress from my doubts and refusal to believe you would ever view me in any way other than your occasionally eccentric roommate.   
John rolls himself out the bed amidst a myriad of groaning, muttering and sighing as feet make contact with the cold floor. He pads quickly onto the bathroom with a familiar call of "Shower". My eyes flicker to the clock. He'll be gone for eight minutes longer than he ever used to be. Eight minutes we don't mention or acknowledge. It is as much part of our routine as anything else. I pretend to not notice what he does in the shower and in turn he pretends not to know I know. It's silly and quite unnecessary but we do it nonetheless. John accepted me for what I am and with all the limitations that tying himself together with me in a monogamous relationship brings, or more accurately, doesn't bring. I'm happy with what we are and its all I'd ever need or require. He doesn't ever mention the absence of physical affection between us, never sighs, complains or makes me feel any less of a worthy partner because of it. And so he spends an extra eight minutes in the shower most mornings, washes, dresses and comes back to me, only me, and then he'll smile again.


End file.
